


America's Apple Pie

by PanicFOB



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 10:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanicFOB/pseuds/PanicFOB
Summary: You come across Steve Rogers in a bind at one in the morning. You offer to help him out, and a wonderful new relationship starts baking.





	America's Apple Pie

**Author's Note:**

> I created this for a writing challenge on Tumblr, so I figured I'd publish it here as well. If you haven't read my two multi-chapter fics, check them out. And if you prefer to do your reading on Tumblr rather than here, all of my stuff is posted there under the same name: panicFOB. Enjoy!

The atmosphere was boiling. A powdery white substance clouded the air. Some sort of sticky mixture polluted the ground. An exasperated man cursed at himself, sweat dripping down his temple and defeat clear on his face.  
This is how you found Steve in the kitchen at one in the morning: sweltering from the heat of the oven, vision-impaired from the amount of flour in the air, covered in apple filling, and ready to pull his hair out at the impossible endeavor. “What the hell are you up to, Rogers?”  
He looked up in embarrassment from the bowl he was vigorously mixing. “It’s Bucky’s birthday today,” he said vaguely.  
You gave him a surveying look. “Okaaaaaaay… doesn’t explain what the fuck happened in this kitchen in the middle of the night.”  
He finally stopped mixing whatever was in that bowl at the speed of light and ran his fingers through his hair, which only resulted in more flour and filling caking his blond locks. “My ma used to always bake us an apple pie on our birthdays. Every year, without fail. This is Bucky’s first birthday officially on the team, and I thought it might be a nice gesture.”  
“Have you ever baked apple pie before?” you asked him skeptically.  
“No,” he admitted. He started mixing again out of frustration.  
You moved toward him. “Steve put the whisk down, and nobody gets hurt.” You eventually wrestled it from his hand. “Have you ever baked anything before?” You were afraid of what the answer would be.  
“No, all right. This was an incredibly idiotic idea. I’ve been in here for two hours and have nothing to show for it.”  
You put your palms on his shoulders and pushed him over to a barstool. You’d known Steve for several years now. You had come to work for Tony Stark when SHIELD collapsed. Captain America had been pretty preoccupied for most of those years, dealing with Ultron and then the Accords, but once the civil war was resolved and he and Bucky came home to the compound, Steve Rogers began to relax a bit.  
You had always found the man attractive. Who didn’t? But it was in these relaxed moments, these perfectly ordinary and pleasantly domestic moments, that you began to fall for the Captain. He was a good friend to everyone on the team, an exemplary moral guide, and an excellent listener. The two of you had become quite close in the last six months, and you feared that you were running dangerously toward the point of no return when it came to being madly in love with him.   
“Just take a deep breath, Steve. I’m not a professional chef or anything, but I’ll help you the best I can. I promise you that we will have an edible apple pie by the time everyone else wakes up. Okay?”  
The tension in his shoulders finally eased, and a small smile formed on his chiseled face. “Thank you so much, Y/N.”  
“No problem… Now, first things first, why on earth do you have the oven set so high? It’s a furnace in here.”  
Steve shrugged his shoulders but at least had the decency to look guilty. His skills in the kitchen were more of a hopeless cause than you had thought. You began listing off ingredients for him to grab from the cupboard, telling him how much of which things to put where. He obeyed your every word, clearly grateful to have someone else in charge of this catastrophe. Half an hour later, the two of you looked down at a nicely constructed pie waiting to be placed in the oven.  
“All that’s left is to bake it. You do the honors,” you told him, but as you walked over to open the oven door, you slipped on some of the goop on the floor and fell flat on your back.  
Steve had already grabbed the uncooked pie and started to follow you when this happened, so the natural result was his foot also landing in the goop, him falling next to you, and the pie landing right on your face. You peeled the filling and dough off of you and tuned your head to give the man a loathing look. Steve was trying desperately to hold in his laughter, but it was of no use. A tickled howl erupted from him, and your hateful look subsided because all you could think about was how lovely his laugh sounded.   
“Regretting your decision to help me yet?”  
“I don’t regret anything,” you whispered because his face was so close to yours, but the words held far more meaning than he could possibly know. You were certain you would never regret any moment of your life that had led you to cross paths with this wonderful man. How could you possibly regret a messy kitchen and a flustered super-soldier when his beautiful blue eyes were looking into yours so lovingly? And you thought: this is it, this is your moment, your chance.  
You looked at him a second longer, and then you closed your eyes and took the dive. Thankfully, his lips met yours with just as much eagerness. Steve was kissing you passionately, and you were kissing him with every bit of emotion you had held in for six months. You could die happy now knowing what those gorgeous lips felt like. Both of you could taste the apple filling that had been smeared on your mouth, and it made the moment that much sweeter. When you finally pulled away, you noticed his cheeks turning pink, and you guessed it was from him kissing you so soundly rather than from the heat of the kitchen.   
You wanted to stay on that floor with him forever, rolling around in apples and flower, but you had made him a promise you intended to keep. You quickly got to your feet and offered a hand to help him up. “Let’s take it from the top, Captain,” you instructed as he stood before you. True to your word, Bucky walked into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed, to find a beautifully baked apple pie sitting on the kitchen counter that morning.


End file.
